the falling all of nature and grim burning skies of
and then rising of the darkness in my kingdom from the
misanthropic holy sadness makes the unholy tears of
makes the mountains as the stone and the forests as a
true ruinous stroms have come in the landscapes of the
painful dying of the owl I hear it out from the dark.
the sky is burning gray and the stars are darken away.
disintegrate moon on the sky has last shining but gray.
the tired tearing voices, many cages lost the keys.
prisoners in the prisons, and prisons are their creeds.
oh, the morbid castels and cathedrals are the elder
ruins like selves.
I feel here is so cold, colder than the colds of
wrathful storms desolates trees from the forests to the
the deeper and the deeper than the deeps of abyssic
the graveyard stones of tombs are flying on the air.
empty graves, even the coffins, is this pure? is this
all funerals are here, here is no tears from heart.
here is nature, here is forest, here is flames and here
true reasons of the living on this earth are where to
no one needs the world after death and living in this
who is god? who is satan? what is reason of the life?
where is hell? where is heaven? where is where the soul
who is Ihs? who is phrophet? who can change the brain
what is religion? what is life? what is promise? what
in this coldest darkest corner of true dark imperials.
I'm sitting on my black robe and I'm tearing with the
ah, I see a funeral, the funeral of the brains.
but no one feels this dying, true silent dying of my